How far was it, this bog? How long did she have to live?

Berimund was resolved; she could see that. The boy in him was hidden again, replaced by the hard man he was becoming.

She wished she could see Anne once more. There were things she should have told her when she had the chance.

Had Anne foreseen this? Part of her wondered. Had her own daughter sent her to her death? Was some greater purpose being served?

She had to be brave a little while longer.

"Berimund," she murmured. "One thing, please."

"What's that?"

"Let Sir Neil and Alis take my body to Liery. Give me that, at least: a resting place with my ancestors."

Berimund's response was to look at her as if she were crazy, and her heart sank.

"You don't think I'm actually going to kill you, do you?" he exploded.

She was afraid to understand that at first.

"But Marcomir-"

"That's Father. He's old, near to losing his mind. I won't execute you on his whim. It goes against all honor and all common decency. My brothers may do his every bidding, but I will not."

Muriele felt relief, but it was guarded. "Where are we going, then?"

"A place only my wulfbrothars and I know about," he said. "A place we found during our roving days. You'll be safe there until I can either calm him down or arrange passage for you back to Eslen."

"You would do that?"

Berimund nodded grimly. "I am no traitor," he said. "Our war with Crotheny is just, holy, and right. But that means our actions have to be just, holy, and right. I will not become evil to fight evil."

"My daughter isn't evil," Muriele said.

"I wouldn't expect you to believe so," Berimund replied.

"Do you think I am evil?"

He shook his head. "I think you are in every way honorable." He smiled. "And I've never heard anyone talk like that to my father. For that alone, I would spare you."

"Then how can you imagine I would serve an evil cause?"

"Without knowing you do so," he said.

"Couldn't the same be said for you? Mightn't you be serving the wrong master?"

"My father might well be the wrong master," Berimund said. "But the holy Church is behind us."

"You think you can trust the Church?"

"Yes. But even if I couldn't, there is someone I do trust. Someone very dear to me. And I know we have to fight your daughter."

"Then we are enemies, Berimund."

"Yes, we are. But we shall be civil ones, yes? We shall behave honorably."

"You're still hung over," Muriele said.

"Indeed. And as soon as possible I shall cure that by being drunk."

"And your men?"

"My wulfbrothars. I've known them all since childhood. Our first oaths are all to one another. None of them will betray me."

Muriele nodded, but in her mind's eye she saw Robert watching her being led off and the words he had mouthed at her. She hadn't caught them then, but now with sudden clarity she knew what he had been saying:

I'll see you soon.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ACREDO'S POINT struck the knight just below the gorget and slipped up beneath the helm. Helped by the man's reflex of throwing his head back, the weapon lodged in his throat. Cazio let his elbow bend as the blade struck home, but the shock was still terrific. The knight flipped back out of the saddle, and Cazio, helpless to control his flight, followed him to the ground.

He hit hard on his off-weapon hand and used it to tumble head over heels, but he had too much momentum and ended up rolling four times before he could come back up on his feet. When he did, he turned unsteadily to meet his fate, Acredo still in his hand.

But the other knights weren't paying much attention to him. The men swarming out of the woods were filling them full of arrows or stabbing at them with pikes, and that seemed to have distracted them.

He recognized them then. They were what remained of the troops Anne had given him to invest Dunmrogh.

He checked the fellow he had hit and found him without breath, then watched Anne's soldiers finish off the knights. He rubbed his shoulder, which hurt as if Lord Aita were racking it in his halls of punishment. He wondered if it was dislocated.

Z'Acatto peered up from the front of the carriage.

"What are you doing back there?" he asked.

"A lot more than I needed to, it appears," he replied.

"Nothing new there."

A few moments later, one of the men came over and doffed his helm, revealing a seamed face with a long white scar across the forehead and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. Cazio recognized him as a fellow named Jan something or other.

"That was timely," Cazio said. "Many thanks."

"It was at that," Jan said, his tone cool. "We reckoned you dead, Sir Cazio."

"I'm not a knight," he pointed out.

"No? I reckon you're not, are you? But we were put in your charge."

"Yes, and look how well I did for you," Cazio said. "I led you straight into a trap."

Jan nodded. Some more of the men were walking up.

"Yeah, you did, didn't you?" another of them agreed, an older, nearly bald fellow with thick features. "Near half of us are dead or missing. Playing sausage with Her Majesty don't make you a commander, does it?"

Cazio's hand twitched on Acredo's hilt. "I'll agree I'm no commander, but you'll take that back about Queen Anne, and you'll do it now."

The man spit. "Pig guts, I will," he snarled. "If you want-"

"Easy, Hemm," Jan said. "No good dragging the queen into this."

"She put us here as much as he did," Hemm said.

Cazio lifted his weapon toward the guard. "Take it back."

The men had surrounded him.

"You'll take us all, then, with your fancy little sword?" Hemm asked.

"I'll certainly kill you," Cazio promised.

"And I'll help him kill the rest of you," z'Acatto's voice said sharply from outside the circle. "Are you pigs or soldiers?"

Hemm looked puzzled. "Pigs or soldiers?" he repeated. Then his face lit up oddly, and he spun toward the old man. "Emrature? Cassro dachi Purcii?"

"Ah, zmierda," z'Acatto swore.

"It is you," Hemm said.

"Sodding saints, it is!" another gray-haired soldier agreed. "Older and uglier than ever."

"You're still just as stupid, Piro," z'Acatto bit back. He pointed his sword at Hemm. "You want to fight the son of Mamercio, go right ahead, but it'll be a fair fight, just you and him."

Hemm glanced back at Cazio. "That's Mamercio's pup?" He rubbed his bearded jaw. "Yeah, I see it now."

He turned fully back to the swordmaster. "No harm meant," he said. "I just, well, the rumor is-"

"Is wrong," Cazio said firmly.

Hemm held his palms up and out. "Then it's wrong. I stepped in it."

That sounded enough like an apology, so Cazio lowered his sword.

"There's a good lad," Hemm said, clapping his hand on Cazio's shoulder. "Me and your father and that old man there, we saw some times. I was sorry to hear about your papa." He pointed at z'Acatto. "He was the finest leader a band of probucutorii ever had. He used to call us his purcii, his pigs."

"It wasn't a term of affection," z'Acatto said. "It's what you smelled like."

"Sure," Hemm agreed. "And the worst-Whatever happened to that old sow Ospero?"

"He went into business in z'Espino," z'Acatto said. "I saw him a few months ago."

"Business, eh? I can imagine what kind. That's what I should have done. Now see where I am. But it's good to have you here, Cassro. Me and the boys here are about at our wit's end."

"You couldn't have started far from there," z'Acatto said.

"He was your leader?" Cazio asked Hemm.

"Just me and old Piro there fought in the twenty-year war," Hemm said. "The rest of these are too young."